


field of vision

by risquetendencies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Background Bokuto-Hinata Friendship, Bokuto's mood swings, But He's Learned So Much, Established Relationship, Fluff and Love and Emotions, M/M, Older Characters, Owls Very Much In Love, Post-Timeskip Era, Pro Athlete Bokuto, manga editor akaashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27097843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risquetendencies/pseuds/risquetendencies
Summary: Right now, his field of vision was excellent. And what reflected back at him was enough to warm his heart a thousand times over. Koutarou swallowed hard, not even caring that he was bringing up conversation from yesterday.Somehow, he felt like Akaashi would understand.“This is what you meant, Keiji,” he said, voice raw with sudden, painful affection.Akaashi turned his head, matching their eyes. Then, incredibly, though Koutarou had never doubted him for a second, Akaashi nodded. Comprehension and a faint smile lit up his tired face, murky green eyes fluttering behind his reading glasses, causing Koutarou’s pulse to beat faster. He continued to stare, drinking in the sight of the man he loved more than anything. Anyone.“Yes. I’m glad you can see it now, Bokuto-san.”
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 17
Kudos: 136





	field of vision

**Author's Note:**

> I love to imagine older Bokuto, I really do. I feel like he'd be unstoppable. Like once he gets to do the job he was born for, lands the guy of his dreams, and figures out how to manage his brain, it's all over for you, world.
> 
> But we learn new stuff every day we're alive, so even the wise great horned owl has some things to realize.

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Koutarou sang, the noise bright and loud. He set another plate on the drying rack. Up on the windowsill over the sink, the radio matched his enthusiastic performance, playing a bouncy pop tune that he’d recently got attached to. He didn’t know all the words, but that was okay. He was having fun. Songs were his favorite because of how they made him feel, not because the lyrics were perfect for anything.

Still, Akaashi’s words from yesterday were burning a hole in his head. He couldn’t help but pay attention to them.

Come to think of it, that summed up Akaashi for Koutarou perfectly.

He never wanted to stop watching him. Never stopped being fascinated by cataloguing the thousand or so expressions Akaashi wore, his well-ingrained habits, the bits of advice or clever jokes he’d tell him. People sometimes dismissed Akaashi as a quiet guy, maybe a little uptight. But they were missing out, and Koutarou was both offended and unreasonably glad he got to be the only one to know Akaashi so well.

Feet squeaking to a stop on the glossy kitchen tile, Koutarou leaned over the counter, placing his hands on it as he allowed himself to replay the scenes once more. As he drifted into his memories, his hips swayed from side to side, absentmindedly dancing along to the rising pace of his newest, most-loved song.

**. . . . .**

Today had been a shitty day, for multiple reasons. That was par for the course when he had a bad spell, though. As if he was a rolling stone steadily gathering moss, the longer the day wore on, the more trouble Koutarou attracted.

It had started with waking up alone.

The root cause probably wasn’t that, though.

Koutarou had felt off the previous night too, a creeping sense of dread crushing his chest as he tried to fall asleep. He’d gone to bed earlier than usual. Wise or not, he’d wanted to sleep away the feeling in the hopes that the dread would unknot itself by morning. It hadn’t.

Even then, Koutarou had expected to be cheered up by seeing a dozing Akaashi face when he woke up. Seeing that sight always made him feel better, made him feel at peace. That was why he had a picture of Akaashi’s perfect, beautiful, utterly dead to the world face saved as his phone background.

Akaashi’s internal clock ran different than his. He preferred to stay up late, Koutarou was more in the ‘early to bed, early to rise’ camp. They only went to sleep at the same time when Akaashi had to wake up for something work-related or they spent the evening in bed making love.

But neither of those had happened, and so Koutarou had expected the norm: waking up to his boyfriend fast asleep. Only, Akaashi’s side of the bed had been vacant, and cool, as if he hadn’t been there for a while. There hadn’t been a note to explain, either, something Akaashi never forgot if he left home suddenly.

The second problem had been stupid, but the irritation it caused had burrowed under Koutarou’s skin, adding to the itch of unease he was accumulating.

He’d burnt his toast. He never burnt his food. He was good at cooking; he was _really_ good at it. Despite the way his attention liked to drift at other times, Koutarou knew better than to not keep a sharp eye on whatever he was making. Delicious food was worth the dedication it took.

But he’d zoned out, muttering to himself as he paced the kitchen. Now, Koutarou couldn’t remember what had been on his mind. Probably not good thoughts. And so, he’d made laps around the center island, trying furiously to burn off restless energy and kicking himself while he was down already.

And he’d forgotten the toast in the toaster.

Naturally, things got worse after that. When he’d headed off to work, to practice, Koutarou had felt like he was sleepwalking. A zombie taking the train, arriving at the sports center, and changing into his gym clothes. He had barely felt like living at that point.

Mood swings were a less frequent fact of life for him, post therapy and learning coping methods, but they cropped up. When they did, Koutarou used the tools in his arsenal to the best of his ability to shut them down.

Sometimes that was enough, other times it wasn’t. In those cases, he tried to take it in stride, to tell himself it was fine to not be okay, just so long as he didn’t let himself drown in the feeling. Everyone had bad days, but you had to know when to close the book on a down-spiral and not let it consume you.

But this slump was brutal. He felt depressed like he hadn’t been in years.

Worthlessness surged through his veins, insistent, as Koutarou attempted to warm up, stretching and jogging laps. Building up a sweat proved not enough to put a dent in the negative steam of thoughts in his head. He wondered why he was there, why anyone had scouted him for the pro league, why anyone thought he merited the effort or recognition. Why his teammates relied on him when he was flaky as an ace at best.

When their first break of the morning arrived, Hinata orbited around him.

"Bokuto!" he chirped, waving hands in front of Koutarou's face to grab his attention. When he received a blank stare, the younger man shifted his position, coming from this angle or that to prod at Koutarou's unmoving form on the bench.

"This morning, we were having breakfast, and I spilled the orange juice! It wasn't that much though, so I didn't think about it. But then I got up from the table, and tripped over it like _whoosh_. That's how I got this bruise!" Hinata narrated, sliding his jersey up to display a purple mark blooming on his left pectoral.

"Pretty uncool, right? But I managed to save the miso in my bowl. Not bad, right?!"

Somewhere deep in his catatonic state, Koutarou knew his teammate was trying to cheer him up. On a normal day, he would have been laughing with Hinata, complimenting the nice receive with the soup, or maybe himself, because surely he had something to do with teaching Hinata how to be so cool. But right now, Hinata's story only soured the emotions whirling in Koutarou’s gut. He recalled the burnt toast. The empty half of the bed. Falling asleep and waking up to an imaginary weight crushing the air from his lungs.

It was all too much. Koutarou wanted to curl up and die right there on the court.

He didn't want to be here. It was clear to him that he didn't belong there, anyway. Who could rely on someone as unreliable as him?

Hinata was a good person, a radiant sun shining down on their team. Koutarou loved the kid like he was a part of his family, a younger brother or, like Kuroo sometimes teased him, his adopted son. Hinata was talented, and had shown more growth than most players Koutarou had ever known. _He_ belonged there, no question. 

Reining in a distressed cry, Koutarou shot up off the bench, fleeing for the locker room.

He ran to the far corner, slamming his body down on the floor, hiding amongst the rows of lockers and benches. As his stress levels soared, Koutarou draped his track jacket over his head like a ghost costume with no eye slits, blocking out the rest of the world.

As he sat there, he was silent, but inside, his brain screamed at him. Loudly. Tension rippled through his veins, making Koutarou clench and unclench his fists as he jittered them against his bunched-up knees. Unable to fight it, he let the floodgates of his negative thoughts flow open and stood in their raging tide without caring what damage was inflicted on him.

He couldn't stop.

For an indeterminable time, he let himself be torn apart.

But then the phone in his jacket pocket buzzed, setting off a weird vibration against his ear. The strangeness and unexpectedness of the sensation chipped away at the flood as if Koutarou had been tossed a life vest to prevent him from drowning. Blinking in confusion, he rifled through his makeshift hood, finding his phone and pulling it out. He tugged the device close to his face and hesitated before looking at it.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

What was happening to him now wasn't great, but he didn't know if it could get worse. Maybe it could.

It took the last bit of strength Koutarou possessed for him to swipe past the lock screen. With a jolt to his heart, he noted Akaashi's contact name attached to the texts.

**sowlmate** : _Bokuto-san, I am so sorry for earlier. I was in a rush and I forgot to write anything down. I had to go visit an author in the hospital. He overworked himself, again. But he’s fine now._

 **sowlmate** : _I should be home at the regular time. Actually, I could meet you for lunch, if you would like. I’m in your part of the city._

 **sowlmate** : _Don’t agree if it’s not convenient for you._

Koutarou’s breath caught when he finished reading. Without giving it a second thought, he closed out of the text log and dialed Akaashi’s phone.

His boyfriend sounded surprised when he picked up the call.

“Bokuto-san? Is it your break time already?”

Koutarou sat there like a stone, not saying anything. Tears leaked out of his eyes, slopping down his face messily. Something approaching relief swept over him as he stayed on the line with Akaashi. It didn’t matter if Akaashi wasn’t sitting there next to him. He was there in some form, and that was enough for Koutarou's feelings to come spilling out from beneath the lid he clumsily tried to keep over them around other people.

It was always safe to talk to Akaashi. He never felt like he couldn't be honest.

“Um, yeah,” Koutarou said at length, swallowing around the lump in his throat to get the response out. “I’m on break.”

Akaashi inhaled on the other end sharply.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, tone neutral, but not as neutral as Akaashi liked himself to sound. Koutarou could hear it, his concern, plain in the question. But maybe he just knew Akaashi too well to miss any cues.

Koutarou shook his head violently, stirring his cover. The jacket fell away, slinking down to pool behind him, between his back and the wall. Outside the locker room, somewhere far off, he heard yelps of glee that sounded like Hinata and less amused shouting from another voice. His team probably was back at work. Without him, and it seemed like they were carrying on just fine in his absence.

Like they didn’t need him to be there at all.

His stomach rolled over.

Koutarou’s eyes beaded with tears again, his head throbbing from the pressure of everything that was going on inside it right now.

“No.”

The response was little more than a sob.

“Oh, Koutarou,” Akaashi’s voice poured through the receiver, gentle and patient. It was warm and soft like the barn owl patterned blankets they kept under the TV stand to wrap themselves in on cold nights. Akaashi’s tone enveloped Koutarou just the same way, and he clung to its supportive strains as he waited. He wished like hell that they could be under those blankets together right now.

But then his boyfriend’s tone shifted.

“You’ve tried the breathing?” Akaashi asked, voice efficient like he was reading from a mental checklist. “Drinking water, or tea? Saying your positive affirmations, even if you don’t believe them at this moment?”

Koutarou shook his head again, and then felt stupid. This wasn’t a video chat, Akaashi couldn’t see him doing it, so he didn’t know why he bothered reacting that way.

“Can’t today.”

Need surged within him.

“Can we meet up now?” Koutarou blurted out.

Today felt suspiciously like one of the times where his best option was to gather up all the things that comforted him and try to let those be a balm to his soul until the day faded away. Into a different, better one. Akaashi was the number one thing that comforted him. Maybe they could wait out the storm together, until he felt grounded and regained control of his head.

He had come too far to let one rogue day ruin all his progress. Shitty as he felt in that moment, Koutarou knew that this low would pass. Eventually.

“I would consider it,” Akaashi said. “There is nowhere I’d rather be. But I need to head into work, to tie up some loose ends for my author.”

Koutarou frowned, hanging his head.

Then he shook it for a third time.

No, this was one of those clutch moments. One where he could prove, to himself, that he’d outgrown the destructive tendencies of his past. They were adults now. Dropping everything to run to the person you loved’s side was something that happened in manga. Not the genre of manga Akaashi worked on, but other kinds. Koutarou knew it was an unreasonable request, and he also believed Akaashi when he told him that if he could, he would be with him.

“Okay,” Koutarou breathed out, willing himself to settle. Miraculously, some of the throbbing in his head receded, replacing itself with a low-grade pressure that felt like him concentrating. “Good luck with work. Let’s just see each other at home, later.”

“If that’s alright with you, Bokuto-san.”

A few more tears squeezed out as he pictured Akaashi’s uncertain frown, but the drops felt like the tail end of his crying. Koutarou let his shoulders lower, forcing himself to relax. He had work to do. Work that despite what his brain told him, he was incredibly good at. Outside this room were teammates who respected him and his abilities. And in a few short hours, he got to go home to someone who loved him.

“It’s more than alright,” Koutarou said honestly, residual emotion making his voice quaver. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you, Keiji.”

Across their connection, a relieved sigh echoed.

“You sound better.”

Koutarou nodded to himself, alone, in the locker room. He liked to think that Akaashi could picture him too, and somehow, intuitively would know what he was doing. That somehow, it came through in the growing steadiness in his words.

“I will be.”

**. . . . .**

Dragging himself out of a particularly bad low often felt less like dragging, and more like he was balancing on a see-saw. Sometimes the balance tipped toward feeling good again, but with the slightest wrong movement, the board could tip back the opposite way.

Koutarou hated that.

He wished feeling better was like an uphill sprint, where nearing the top gave him that final punch of energy he needed to reach the goal. If he put in the effort, if he did the right things to calm himself down, kept moving forward, shouldn’t that be enough?

It was frustrating. But the sole positive was that when he’d gotten home after work, the balance of his emotions hadn’t tipped back far enough to discourage him.

He cooked dinner. Sure, that meant heating up leftovers, but it was still good food that he wanted to eat and that he had created at some point. And getting it ready meant that Akaashi wouldn’t have to, after his abnormally long day away from home.

Koutarou had calculated. The first train to Akaashi’s author’s hometown went out at 0430. Akaashi had returned to the city around his morning break time. Then he’d gone back to work like usual and would be arriving home at 1730 like he always did except at the end of a publication cycle. Thirteen hours, on less than half that amount of sleep. Akaashi was going to be a zombie, if an altogether different brand of zombie than Koutarou had masqueraded as today.

Food was necessary. Without vital nutrients to sustain him, Akaashi would probably die.

That revelation had inspired a random laugh to burst from Koutarou’s throat. Not at Akaashi dying, because that was the last thing he’d ever, ever laugh at. He didn’t even want to consider that idea. Maybe he’d revisit it when he turned 101 and Akaashi was 100 years old.

But it was just that when he’d thought it, he’d also thought about how attached Akaashi was to food. Even when things were crazy in life or work, Akaashi never skimped on his meals. More accurately, he couldn’t or he lost all filter on his sharp tongue, or the focus to be the brilliant editor Koutarou knew he was.

An underfed Akaashi was troublesome. If occasionally funny, when the situation involved more of the sharp tongue than the other bad stuff.

Koutarou smiled for the first time that day. The see-saw tipped forward.

**. . . . .**

It was hard to tell if Akaashi was asleep or not.

His answers were growing farther apart, and the other side of the bed was quieter as time wore on.

Koutarou snuggled down into the pillows, enjoying the plush feeling under his bare chest. He was laying on his stomach, letting his body settle after the past hour’s activity. Dinner had progressed to the two of them changing and falling right into bed to talk and huddle together. At first about mindless topics, but, when he’d worked up his courage, Koutarou had initiated talking about his slump today.

This late into their conversation, he had a sneaking suspicion that Akaashi was dozing off. Not out of boredom, but pure and total exhaustion.

Koutarou couldn’t blame him, and didn’t. Even if he was ultimately talking to a brick wall now, it made him feel better to air the negative feelings out. Like he was banishing them, letting them go forever. Or at least until they tried to pick at him again. But he was resolved to be ready to kick their asses that time.

Knowing Akaashi was finally getting some rest made him feel good too.

Tilting his head, Koutarou laid a cheek against a pillow, studying his boyfriend’s face. As he’d suspected, Akaashi’s eyes were closed, thick dark brows narrowed, his lips twitching now and again in response to something in his dreams. Koutarou smiled, heart feeling full as he stared across the few inches between their faces.

“Anyway, I know it’s bad to think,” he continued, kneading the edge of a pillowcase between his fingers. “Because things have been going great with my cross, but I flubbed it a few days ago, and… well, it caught up to me.”

His chest tightened. Koutarou focused, dispelling the pressure with a grounding breath.

Nope. He was getting over it.

There was always tomorrow to practice, and he didn’t need to be perfect right away. Life was all about the journey, not the destination. Trying to improve his spike was part of why he enjoyed going to work. Every day, he got to do his absolute favorite thing in the world, and somehow, that was his job. He was lucky. Flubbing shots once in a while couldn’t steal that joy from him.

"So I thought that because I messed up, that maybe... maybe I'm not cut out to be where I'm at. The other guys are so good. Even when they mess up, it's never as bad as when I do."

Koutarou breathed through the twinge of unease that crawled back into him, forcing it away.

He told himself what he said wasn't true, that he was comparing himself to a standard that was unreasonable. The only one who lost when you compared yourself to someone else was you. And his brain wasn't at its best today; anything he thought he knew was probably clouded by what it wanted him to feel like. He was on the team because he belonged there, because he was _good_ at volleyball. It wasn't a fluke, or a job someone had pitied him enough to recruit him for.

Was it though?

No, it wasn't. Koutarou pinched the edge of the pillowcase, grappling with the intrusive question.

It was definitely not true.

Their bed creaked as movement stirred beside him. Drowsily, Akaashi's eyes blinked open, staring out between blinks for a few seconds like he was angry. Angry at being awake, if Koutarou had to guess, because there was no other reasonable explanation to account for his anger. But before he could confirm his theory, Akaashi's expression smoothed out. His lips formed a flat line on his face.

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” he said, bluntly.

Koutarou quirked an eyebrow.

What?

He lifted his head off the pillow, sliding up in bed. Putting space between them felt right, because he wasn't sure how to interpret Akaashi's statement. He had thought Akaashi was sleeping. Was he responding to Koutarou's story that he'd somehow intercepted while passed out, or was Akaashi responding to something that he'd dreamed?

"Keiji?"

Almost grudgingly, Akaashi sat up, mirroring his change in position. There were more inexplicably annoyed blinks. Eye strain, probably.

"Koutarou, I love you. But sometimes, you try my patience."

That sounded like something an awake and alert Akaashi might say. Koutarou leaned back against the headboard of their bed, frowning. Again, he wasn't sure how to answer his boyfriend. Nothing made sense yet. Akaashi had asked him earlier to tell him everything, every negative thought that he'd had about himself during the day. Koutarou had complied. Why was Akaashi upset with him now? Had he talked too loudly? Was Akaashi mad that he'd woken him up when he'd finally fallen asleep?

Akaashi sighed, as if gearing up for a troublesome task. His hands laced together, one tugging on the other, popping the finger joints.

Once he'd worked through four, and let out another sigh that filled Koutarou with trepidation, Akaashi spoke.

"I am sure you don't see it, but to me, you are unmatched as a person. It escapes me how you fail to realize that when it is obvious to everyone who meets you. I know things are not as simple as me telling you how wonderful you are. But I do wish, sometimes, that you could see yourself from my perspective, and understand there's no reason to doubt who you are or what you can accomplish."

Koutarou blinked. It wasn't because he had eye strain.

He sat there, gaping, trying to come to terms with what he'd just heard. An entire speech, composed and cool, featuring him. Straight from his half-zombified boyfriend's lips.

For a minute, Koutarou felt struck dumb, his emotions bouncing between disbelief and finding Akaashi's words incredibly, painfully touching. Akaashi was right. He wasn't sure he believed any of it. Lately, he was trying to believe he was great. That he was capable, talented, and not some charity case that people tolerated because he spiked a ball well sometimes. It had taken him years to get to the point he was at now, where more often than not, he chose to speak to himself kindly.

But then there were days like today, where that choice was hard to make.

A weight settled in Koutarou's chest. 

He shook his head.

No.

Akaashi never lied to him. Even if he wasn't confident about what was being said, he could at least believe Akaashi felt it was true.

"Koutarou?"

Emotions swelled in Koutarou's chest, need and gratitude blending together and shoving away the encroaching weight making him feel wrong. Pitching closer, he wrapped his arms around Akaashi and embraced him tight. In his haste, he pinned Akaashi's arms at his side, hugging him as if he didn't have any that he might want to hug back with. Koutarou nestled his head against the crook of Akaashi's shoulder, inhaling the clean scent of his shirt. 

The fabric didn't smell like anything, was completely bland and inoffensive apart from the freshness. The result was soothing.

"Thank you," he murmured, snuggling into the space he'd carved out for himself.

Akaashi twitched inside his overbearing hold.

"There is no need to thank me. Just keep that in mind for the next low," Akaashi replied. "Firmly in mind."

Koutarou smiled at the extra reminder. He turned his head a few degrees, and planted an adoring kiss against the base of Akaashi's throat. That earned another slight shift of his boyfriend in his arms, so Koutarou repeated the motion, slowly working his way higher and coming out of hiding. Akaashi's breaths hitched, snagging entirely when Koutarou pecked his jaw. Their eyes met, and once locked, he read a different emotion in them than earlier. Akaashi looked determined.

On instinct, Koutarou loosened his arms. Within two seconds, Akaashi was gripping the back of his head and joining their lips together. 

Heat kindled throughout his body. Akaashi's free hand swept over the solid plane of his bicep, tracing down his arm to finally lace their fingers. The engaged one wove deeper into Koutarou's two-toned hair, holding it to steady them both. Akaashi's lips slotted against his, bold and seeking. Koutarou melted beneath the onslaught, parting his mouth and groaning lowly into Akaashi's kiss in surrender.

Yes, he could believe Akaashi quite nicely now, if he had ever doubted him to begin with.

When they parted, Koutarou felt like he had sprinted at full speed. His body heaved, breath billowing out in desperate, needy wisps.

"Wow," he said once he could manage speech.

"Eloquent as always, Bokuto-san." Akaashi smirked at him with lips stained redder than their previous shade.

"Shouldn't I be my first name?" Koutarou teased back. "You usually drop all the formality when we're, you know... doin' stuff." Or when Akaashi was caught up in what he felt for Koutarou, whether that moment involved fondness, extreme and total exasperation, or when Akaashi himself felt compromised or vulnerable. A rare state for his incredibly cool boyfriend, but it happened.

"Perhaps once we're actually doing 'stuff' I'll consider using your first name."

That was an invitation if ever Koutarou had heard one. But a single nagging concern swam to the surface. His eyes roved over Akaashi, checking him over. Once more, Koutarou calculated. Maybe four hours of sleep before getting up today. One and a half, if that, since they'd laid down after dinner. Countless hours in between working, or trying to be strong for the both of them.

Koutarou slid back in bed, indecision making his stomach flip over.

"Aren't you tired?"

It took no time at all to receive an answer. Akaashi leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Koutarou flushed pink all the way down his neck.

"I am never too tired for you, my star."

Koutarou's blush deepened.

His entire body and soul went weak when Akaashi called him that nickname. Luckily, it didn't slip out often.

Or he'd probably die.

Then Koutarou laughed, because despite the brave front Akaashi was putting on, he could see up close how dark the circles under his eyes were. The faint lines on his face were prominent. But, Koutarou mused, studying him further, Akaashi was still beautiful to him. Way too beautiful, and it wasn't good for his heart to stare too long, but he couldn't look away. So he didn't.

"Keiji, I know that's not true. You're ready to drop."

Akaashi's hand slid down from his cheek to his shoulder, tugging Koutarou closer. Their bodies shifted, displacing the blankets. Koutarou propped himself over Akaashi's supine form. His pulse sped up by ten stages, and like a broken record, he couldn't find the words to accurately express how gorgeous the sight beneath him was.

Or how moved he felt, knowing he was desired.

"You may have to do the work," Akaashi conceded. Then, his eyes flickered, darkening. "But don't question my willingness."

**. . . . .**

Heaving a wistful sigh, Koutarou shoved the rest of the night far from his mind. If he didn't, he would want to reenact it, not just think about it. And then Akaashi really would die from exhaustion, and he'd be left alone, without the love of his life, for the next seventy-odd years. 

Nope, couldn't risk it. Koutarou shook his head. He'd table the thought for another time.

Golden eyes darted around the kitchen, assessing its condition. The last of the dishes were done, the leftovers from breakfast were stored, and the counters wiped down. Good enough. Today practice began late, and Akaashi's manager had granted him half the day off in gratitude for looking after their star author yesterday. They could relax for a few more hours. 

Trotting over to the cordless charging station by the coffee machine, Koutarou retrieved his phone, giving the notifications a cursory check. There were messages from Kuroo, his mom, and Hinata.

He opened the last one impulsively.

**notsolittlecrow** : _breakfast 2day! didn't trip!!! hope u had a good one too and r feeling better bokuto!_

The picture included with the message featured a beaming Hinata sitting next to a mountain of rice, and a half-full glass of orange juice. He was giving the camera an exaggerated thumbs-up, his white t-shirt crisp and stain free. Koutarou took one look at the message and boomed out a laugh. Why, he wasn't sure. It was such a dumb thing to laugh at and yet-

Yet it made him weirdly happy to realize that Hinata had noticed he wasn't himself yesterday. And had cared enough to reach out.

If anything, that was proof of progress, because when Koutarou was younger, it had felt embarrassing as hell for people to try and comfort him. He hadn't accepted the fact that they might want to, or that he was someone worth people putting effort into cheering up. It had all seemed useless to him when he was trudging through a slump.

But he was worth it, and people did care.

**bokhooto** : _yeah! today's gonna b great! gonna hit all crosses! see u later!_ °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Koutarou returned his phone to the charging stand. That felt like enough for now.

Humming along to the newest song playing on the radio, he strode through to the living room. He felt revitalized, like he had the energy to do anything right now. Sunlight poured through the single window when he walked in, casting the small space in a clean, bright white glow.

Thoughts of heading to the park or maybe the corner store crossed Koutarou’s mind.

The weather outside seemed ideal, with crisp, cool autumn air and a sky that teetered between gray and blue, the latter managing to win out. He had always liked the fall, not just because his birthday fell in that part of the year, but because there was something hopeful about the season. Summer had faded, but winter’s bitterness had yet to take hold. Holidays started coming, one after another, giving people reasons to gather and celebrate with each other. Everyone seemed kinder in the fall.

Positioning both arms up over his head, Koutarou stretched them high, then circled his neck to loosen the muscles. A satisfying feeling of relief accompanied the movement. He mirrored the movements, stretching out his calves and hips.

Maybe he’d go for a run. Just a regular one, to warm himself up for work later.

Ideas bouncing around in his head, Koutarou continued deeper into the apartment.

His feet brought him to the bedroom Akaashi and he shared. If he was going out, he wanted to change out of his pajamas. Koutarou tiptoed in as quietly as his body size would allow. After making sure he ate breakfast, Koutarou had deposited Akaashi back in bed for more sleep. He had received zero complaints on that pointed, physically-enforced suggestion to rest.

At least, there hadn’t been any kickback when he’d carried him there.

Koutarou blinked.

The ceiling lamp was on, and Akaashi was not laying where he had left him. Instead, he was sitting at the desk against the west wall of their bedroom, pen held aloft over an open notebook. His elbow was bent, resting on the desk surface, Akaashi’s fist pressed against his cheek in contemplation.

“What’re you doing awake?”

It took a moment for his incorrigible other half to respond.

“There was something I needed to write down,” Akaashi stated calmly. He didn’t look up from his project. Koutarou watched his fist uncurl, Akaashi’s long, bony fingers splaying against the side of his face.

Koutarou moved closer, curiosity winning out.

If it was something important, something for work, maybe, then he’d let it slide. If it was just another of the endless lists Akaashi had a penchant for writing, ticking off details Koutarou didn’t understand the significance of recording, he’d pick him up and return him to bed. And hold him there for another two hours, with his body as anchor to ensure Akaashi napped. The run could wait. This was more important.

Stepping just behind Akaashi's chair, Koutarou peered down at the notebook. The two pages he could see were covered, with hardly any white space left over.

He choked on air. It wasn't quite a gasp, but felt like one.

There were sketches, rough ones that weren't particularly artistic, but that made their point. Each depicted the upper torso, arms, and head position of a spiker in motion. Movement lines helped to show what the action was supposed to be. In and around the sketches were notes written in Akaashi's tense, neat print. But even then, Koutarou could see he'd wavered, maybe rethinking certain ideas, because eraser dust lay on top of the pages, and a few things were crossed out with strokes intense enough to nearly tear the paper.

Koutarou's eyes flicked from one page and then back, scanning it in pure awe.

The diagrams were about cross spikes. From the drawings, it was unclear, but when he read the notes, he knew the images, the words, everything were about him. About how he could succeed at that play, about the qualities he already possessed that he could hone to get himself there.

Realizing that took his breath away again, and Koutarou had to remember to inhale and exhale as he read.

What was written down was more than instructions. Some of the notes read like Akaashi talking to himself through the page. If Koutarou concentrated hard, he could hear Akaashi saying the words in his head, in that same patient but no-nonsense tone he'd employed with him for all the years they played volleyball together.

_'Bokuto-san's shoulders are strong enough to withstand additional force at this angle...'_

_'If he can turn his body that much, the precision should be there...'_

_'We could try this one on our day off...'_

Was this really how he appeared through Akaashi's eyes? Did Akaashi honestly, truly believe he was capable of all the things he'd written?

Koutarou wanted to cry. Or kiss the man sitting in front of him.

In that moment, he felt unbearably thankful that he'd worked up the nerve to ask Akaashi out all those years ago. 

Akaashi had no idea how much Koutarou loved him, how he was the best thing to ever come into his life.

Or maybe he did. Because they felt the same.

Inspiration struck him through like thunder, and Koutarou's lips parted again, another gasp issuing through them as he remembered something.

Right now, his field of vision was excellent. And what reflected back at him was enough to warm his heart a thousand times over. Koutarou swallowed hard, not even caring that he was bringing up conversation from yesterday.

Somehow, he felt like Akaashi would understand.

“This is what you meant, Keiji,” he said, voice raw with sudden, painful affection.

Akaashi turned his head, matching their eyes. Then, incredibly, though Koutarou had never doubted him for a second, Akaashi nodded. Comprehension and a faint smile lit up his tired face, murky green eyes fluttering behind his reading glasses, causing Koutarou’s pulse to beat faster. He continued to stare, drinking in the sight of the man he loved more than anything. Anyone.

“Yes. I’m glad you can see it now, Bokuto-san.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this fic was one long session of me yodeling my (infinite and powerful) feelings for older!BokuAka loudly into the abyss, but hopefully it was enjoyable for you. It was cathartic for me to write at least. :)
> 
> If you like Bokuto, BokuAka, and other such wonderful things, come interact with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/risquetendency).


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